


Love Like You Mean It

by AnOddSock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol is the drug of choice, Anal Fingering, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Come Eating, Come Marking, Dark Dean Winchester, Dirty Talk, Fondling, Hair-pulling, Hurt Sam Winchester, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Spanking, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Alternating, Possessive Dean Winchester, Spanking, bloody nose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 13:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21374809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: They say hell changes a man, Dean hadn't found this to be true. They say torture brings out your truest self, Dean found that to be half a lie.He never denied what he wanted, how he yearned for little brother in all the wrong ways; he just never acted on it. Hell didn't make him into this, it just gave him no reason to hold back anymore.Watching Sam be happy anywhere and with any one but him is a torture he won’t bear any longer. Sam’s about to meet his most authentic older brother, and Dean’s about to stop pretending there’s anything else he wants.[Written for the prompt: Dean has been secretly aching to fuck his brother for years, but Sam is completely oblivious and ends up finally flirting back with some hot waitress - and finally Dean just snaps, jealousy, want and need making him do some very naughty things to his poor and very unwilling little brother.]
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 23
Kudos: 148
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Love Like You Mean It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deeranger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deeranger/gifts).

> My first fill to start off my Bad Things Happen Bingo Card! Thanks Deeranger for the prompt that set me on my way :)
> 
> I didn't mean to switch POV so much, it just sort of happened...

Dean kept a tight leash on the burning, seething feeling inside of him. He strangled it, held it in check. Because if he didn’t… if he didn’t this entire place might just see the fury of hellfire made carnate in a mortal man.

Sam was flirting, and not even very well; he was so nerdy and reserved he looked flustered more than anything. It would be cute, endearing even, if it were directed at Dean. But the pretty petite waitress who was about half Sam’s gargantuan size left a sour taste on the back of Dean’s tongue. Sam probably wasn’t that into her, just a way to pass the time before they headed out of the bar. And yet…

Dean was jealous. He couldn’t deny it. Didn’t even want to.

All those decades of suffering he’d kept Sam’s face and voice and light as a beacon. Don’t break. Hold on for Sam. Be the man Sam would want you to be. Think about every sinful part of your desire for him that you never let see the light of day. Anything to stay sane, anything to stay his own person, anything to cling to that spoke of home.

Well, he hadn’t stayed his own man, he hadn’t come home right. And it  _ burned _ . He had broken and the spider web effect of that fact splintered through his being and the rage and terror of losing was rising, rising, rising; he had to hold it back, clamp it down, every second of every day.

Sam’s laugh, tilting his head back with his long hair shaking, was the final nail in the proverbial coffin.

Dean wanted him.

Dean craved him.

Dean was going to have him.

* * *

Sam passed time — while Dean hustled pool — with the friendly waitress at the bar, turned and twisted playfully back and forth on a stool that squeaked beneath him while they talked. He was tired, body a little sore from the last hunt and he couldn’t wait to leave. Even a lumpy motel mattress looked inviting from his viewpoint. The few moments of normalcy were nice though; no worries about Dean and his trauma, no ever present press of the end of the world on his conscience. Just people being people.

Still, when Dean tapped his shoulder and crooked a finger and headed out the door Sam was all too happy to follow. 

The evening air was cool and fresh on his face. The sky still tinged with blue along the horizon. It was a strange lull in the evening between the early sleepers already having left for home and the late comers not having set out yet. The parking lot was quiet and empty.

He hurried to catch his brother, bumping shoulders to let Dean know he followed behind. It was good this old familiarity between them, not having to speak to be understood. Dean grunted and Sam heard the jingle of keys in his hand. To avoid being seen in a noticeable car when they’d just finished a case in town Dean had parked on dirt track that was hidden behind a bank of trees, it was about ten minutes walk from the bar on their long legs and they walked most of the way in silence.

“You don’t wanna stay with that pretty little thing?” Dean said after a few minutes, he sounded hoarse and strained.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Huh. Coulda fooled me.”

They reached the car, hidden in its little out of the way spot. The metal gleamed and with a touch of his hand Sam felt the still warm spark from it soaking up the last rays of the sun.

“What do you mean?”

Dean paused at the hood of the car and Sam leaned up beside him.

“You looked pretty comfortable is all.”

Sam shrugged. “You didn’t need me to hustle money.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at him.  “Is that what you think, that I don’t need you?”

“Well, not for this.”

Dean placed a hand on Sam’s jacket, stroking down the lapels. “But for so much more.”

He looked like he was focused on a faraway thought, and Sam opened his mouth to ask what was going on when Dean yanked him forward and flipped him around with jarring swiftness. He had been utterly relaxed and his muscles didn’t catch up in time to prevent being slammed face first onto the hood of the Impala. Dean held onto his right wrist, twisted his hand and pulled it straight back away from his body. The other hand planted firmly on the base of Sam’s neck, keeping him from bucking back upright.

“What the hell?” Sam asked, grunting as he tried to move and all it did was hurt his shoulder.

“You really need a lesson in reading the room. And I need a thing or two from you, so let’s do both at once shall we?”

“Let me up, what are you playing at?”

“Not playing Sammy, not even a little. You looked so much like you wanted to bend that waitress in half and pound into her for days and you don’t even realise how much that thought drives me wild.”

“Dean!” Sam was horrified, the idea of Dean picturing his sex life and of it affecting him in any way was like looking under a rock and seeing the wiggling, sun starved little worms below. Sam had had some naive ideas as a younger kid, wanting things from Dean he learned he wasn’t supposed to ask for… but he grew up and with practised attention he began to shove those ideas back down and pretend they didn’t exist. He’d got so good at it that as far as he was concerned they might never have happened at all. 

“Been dreaming about this tight ass of yours for years and, you know, the funny thing about hell is that it makes all your inhibitions in life seem pretty fucking pointless. I mean what’s the use in having lived all prim and proper when you’re on that rack being sliced and diced?”

Sam huffed, shuffling forwards only to be pressed harder into the unforgiving metal. “So this, it’s a hell thing? You finally want to talk about it and this is how you do it?”

“Oh I don’t want to talk. Swing and a miss Sammy, guess again.”

Dean pressed up behind him and —  _ oh god —  _ Dean was hard. The bulge of a cock even through two layers of denim was unmistakable against his upturned ass. 

No. This. This couldn't be what Dean wanted, couldn’t be what he was attempting to do.

"Dean! Get off!"

"Believe me, I'm trying."

Sam felt the hot breath on the back of his neck as Dean leaned over and whispered into his ear: "Going to show you are real good time." 

Dean's hand went from squeezing the base of his neck to tangling a hand in his hair, still holding him flush to the surface of the car. Dean’s body retreated and he added "Or... maybe not so good for you, but me? I'm taking what I want and I'm really going to enjoy it."

* * *

Sam had gone utterly still beneath him, hardly even breathing, and Dean waited for the momentum he knew would be coming. Half a beat, several milliseconds, and Sam pushed backwards with a grunt.

He fought, oh how he struggled, trying to wrench his head free from Dean's grasp, forcing himself backwards and kicking out. Dean grinned, loving the way Sam's muscles rippled all lithe and powerful, watching the display he had known was coming.

He had everything under control though and it only made him harder. So hard it practically hurt. He knocked Sam's feet back to the ground, stepped between his now spread legs to hem him in, and twisted Sam's right arm at the elbow, curled it up against his back until Sam yelled at the strain on his shoulder.

With his other hand grasping Sam's hair he yanked his head backwards until Sam relented and stopped struggling. He was half suspended with his back arched but his hips mercilessly crushed to the hood and Dean saw watering eyes from the stinging pain in his scalp.

"Nice show, got any more where that came from?"

Sam was pinned in such a way he could barely move, but his left arm was still free and he slammed it against Baby and then tried to scratch at the hand in his hair.

"Let go!" he hissed.

"Nah, you're too good. Too pretty. Too fucking tempting."

"I'm not tempting I'm your brother, let me help you."

"Oh you are helping me Sammy, couldn't ask for more." He leaned forward and pulled Sam further backwards to drop a kiss on the side of Sam's mouth and Sam sucked in a breath.

"Shoulder!" Sam complained through gritted teeth.

He let go, giving Sam’s arm a little slack and Sam slumped against the car.

Sam’s left hand slapped the metal below him again and he tried to use it to push backwards and force Dean to step away. Dean tutted and grabbed for it, gathered it up to hold behind Sam’s back too. Holding Sam by the wrists, suspended over the black metal of his favourite machine in the world, was heavenly. Sam grunted in annoyance, and tried to shuffle, to wriggle free. Dean squeezed the hands in his grip harder and then  _ shoved _ forwards until Sam cried out as he was crushed. Sam dropped his forehead against Baby’s hood and groaned “ _ Dean.” _

A sound that went straight to Dean’s dick.

* * *

Dean was pressed flush behind him and Sam felt his heart rate spike as every movement he made, and every fight he put up, seemed to make Dean more eager. What the hell was going on?

“What do you  _ want? _ ” he spat.

“I’d have thought that was obvious, use your head Sam. Where does it look like this is leading?”

“We can talk about this! Let me up and we can talk, come on, please.” He turned his head and caught Dean’s eye, trying to look non threatening, and understanding. It’s not like he had no idea where Dean was coming from, but not now, not like this; all those wrong thoughts he’d hidden away couldn’t come true like  _ this _ .

“What would you say, hmm? Gonna tell me that we can talk and be civil and come to some arrangement? That, what, we’ll get in the car, go back to a motel and you’ll get on your back and spread your legs for me?”

Sam felt himself flush, his skin turned red in seconds, heated with the way Dean seemed to be so serious. He really wanted to fuck? He wanted Sam to  _ want _ it, too.

“What happened to you? What got to you?” he asked instead, cursing his mouth at the accusatory words; if Dean had been whammied by something the worst thing he could do was antagonise the situation.

“Just got tired of waiting, got bored of holding back, got fucking sick of seeing you flaunt how single you think you are; when you’re not, you’re  _ mine _ .”

His heart constricted, he wanted to belong, wanted to feel like he was meant to spend his life hunting with Dean, giving up everything else for their mission and destiny. If he'd ever wanted more from their relationship it was gone now, he'd forced himself to be content with what they had; yet he couldn't help the swell of relief at being told he was wanted. But it also created hot pressure behind his eyes that Dean was willing to hurt and  _ take  _ and  _ claim _ what he wanted without asking.

“This isn’t you Dean, this isn’t right, you’d never do this. Did something happen? Did you… did you remember something from Hell and it’s messing with you?”

“I remember every damn thing Sam, from now, from before, from my time downstairs and you know what it all adds up to? Jack squat if I don’t have you, so I’m having you and we can talk about it later.”

His wrists smarted where Dean crushed them together and his back ached, the sun warmed metal was cooling below his face and he felt acutely the lack of warmth where his t-shirt had rucked up baring his stomach. 

Dean pulled back and he struggled anew, until his arms were wrenched upwards away from his body and he gasped at the shock of pain in his shoulders.

“Hold still,” Dean growled.

“You think I will? You think I’ll let you lose yourself like this?”

“If you don’t want a dislocated shoulder, yeah I think you will.” Dean yanked harder and through the eye watering pain Sam heard the quiet snap of a belt buckle.

God. Oh god. Dean was undoing his pants, here and  _ now _ _?_ Dean hauled him backwards a tiny way and fumbled around between the solid car and his heaving body, until Sam’s pants button popped free with barely a hint of resistance. 

“Legs closed,” Dean said, kicking his feet.

“Like hell!”

Dean slammed him down on the hood, letting go of his arms so suddenly that Sam didn’t see it coming. A heavy forearm pressed across the back of his neck and Dean shoved a hand down Sam’s boxers and jeans until they slipped over the swell of his ass.

“This is getting real old, and I’m losing patience. Snap to it, Sam.” 

Sam flailed his arms but Dean was skilfully out of range, and all he did was waste another flood of adrenaline thrashing at empty air.

* * *

Sam's struggling and attempt to hit out gave Dean an idea and once Sam seemed to have worn himself out again he yanked at Sam’s hair and used his other hand to hit Sam on the ass. 

The sound of his hand striking rang through his head and brought him no end of clarity. This was how it should be -- Sam trapped below him and taking what he was due. 

He struck again and again and Sam hissed at every slap, thrashed and squirmed and swore.

“Come on, do as you’re told,” he grunted, smacking Sam’s quickly reddening ass. “This could be over so much sooner, don’t make it so hard on yourself.”

Not that he particularly minded watching Sam’s skin heat and bloom pink and then red. The way Sam rocked under the blows only made his hard on, well, harder.

Dean liked it, liked punishing Sam for riling him up, liked doling out consequences for Sam’s actions — or lack thereof. He had to rein himself in from whipping Sam’s ass six ways from Sunday for making him wait this long, for all the stupid pining he’d done when Sam wouldn’t see what was right in front of them. He had to remind himself there’d be time enough to work out his frustrations in an even more enjoyable way, once Sam realised there was no getting out of this.

“Fuck, stop, stop!” Sam yelled after a particularly brutal hit that sent him careening forward, the car jolted under the weight of Sam’s attempts to get away and his hip bones must have been bruising something fierce. “Why are you doing this?”

“To teach you a lesson, and get you to do as you’re told. Close. Your. Fucking. Legs.” Dean struck him hard with each word and then waited, as Sam gasped through the pain.

He watched in satisfaction as Sam slowly submitted, shuffled awkwardly until his legs were closer together. It left his back at a more extreme angle, pitched down on a curving slope onto Baby’s black top. It stuck his ass out nice and neatly which was a sight Dean couldn’t get enough of.

He shoved Sam’s pants all the way to his ankles until they bunched there as a little added obstacle to inhibit Sam’s movements. He looked like the most delicious thing, all laid out and bared, lily white ass not so pale and delicate anymore. Dean’s heart soared, his lungs felt finally full for the first time in months — if not years— with nothing suppressing his desire. Little brother, all ripe for the taking; it was all he’d ever wanted and everything he never thought he’d get. 

He placed his booted feet either side of Sam’s so he hemmed Sam in place where he needed to be.

“Do you want me, Sam? If you tell me you do we can make this so much better.”

Sam shuddered, tried to cover his ass with his hands, and shook his head.

“That’s too bad, I can’t tell you how many times I pictured this. How many times I had to talk myself down from just asking for it, begging you for it. Turns out, maybe it’s you who needs to beg.”

“Shuddup, I’m not begging!”

“Not exactly standing up for yourself either though, cat got your tongue?”

“I’m… I don’t… what could I say, Dean?”

It was endearing how very lost Sam sounded. Was it from confusion, or fear? Or was he, despite all protest, just embarrassed to be turned on? Only one way to check. Dean stuck a hand between Sam’s thighs and fondled Sam’s drawn up balls, eliciting a wonderful gasp and creating a line of tension that ran all the way down Sam’s spine. He groped further and found a very soft cock; shrunk in the cold and the shock.

“Mmm, not feeling it? That’s alright, I don’t mind coming first.”

He readjusted his hold and Sam struggled but it was weak, like he was too surprised to remember to fight. It made things easy, and that was just fine. He spat and slicked his cock with his own drool, watching the way Sam went taut as a bow at the sound.

“Now, we’re not exactly set up for a good fuck here. You’re not prepped for one thing and won’t be as squeaky clean as I’d like. So, you just keep those legs pressed together and we’ll do this the easy way, alright?”

“What? No, hang on, just — Dean, wait a second —”

He didn’t. He pushed his thick, hard cock until the head nudged the back of Sam’s thighs. The feeling of trembling flesh either side of his cock as he slipped between Sam’s legs sent shockwaves of pleasure through him. Sam’s thighs were speckled with soft hairs and it would have tickled if not for the spit coating his cock, dampening everything. Sam was soft and supple, his skin hot and inviting.

Oh yeah, this would work just fine for Dean.

* * *

His breath caught at the first touch of Dean’s cock, it pushed below his ass between his legs, knocking against his balls. His ass smarted something awful and he didn’t want anything to come into contact there at all. He could feel the heat emanating from it and it was like a warning alarm screaming,  _ blaring, _ as Dean moved closer, pressed nearer. The sky rocked above him as he thrashed and twisted and tried to turn first one way and then the other and he caught glimpses of it above their heads. There was no give, no slack; he was held fast.

He spread his legs again where he could, widened his knees even though he couldn’t step apart, and Dean growled. The grip on his arms loosened and a stinging slap landed once again on his sore ass. 

“You don’t wanna do that Sam.”

“Get off me, get off! I’ll throw you the fuck off! This isn’t right!” He shouted, pulse hammering. There had to be a way out of this, there just had to be.

“Feels pretty damn right to me, you’re perfect. Knew you would be.”

“This is  _ wrong _ , I don’t want this. Let me up, Dean.”

All the while Dean rutted against him, brushed his cock onto one thigh, rolled his hips and thrust against the other. Sam tried to buck and throw him off but all he got was half-lifted and slammed down again in a way that stole his breath.

“If you’re not careful I might slip and hit the wrong spot,” Dean said conversationally. Dean moved and he felt the hot, leaking tip of Dean's cock sit bluntly over his ass hole. He squeaked, and everything went cold. “And that would be a real shame for our first time, wouldn’t it? No lube, no prep, neither of us relaxed. It’d hurt like a bitch.”

“Can’t, don’t, don’t do that, why would you do that?”

“I won’t, if you just keep still.”

“I can’t! I don’t know… Dean this feels so wrong, so so wrong.”

“Do you want me to help you out?”

A small hiccuping sound bubbled out, something like a laugh. This couldn’t be real. Dean hit him on the back of the head and he wobbled and knocked his chin against the Impala. He tried to wrench his way free again and a tendon popped in his shoulder with a crack and he made a low throaty noise of pain.

“Shh, I got you, you don’t have to do any of the work.”

He heard material slide in a swish, turned his neck and saw Dean’s head bowed, lip caught between his teeth while he concentrated. Supple leather cinched around his knees and he exhaled through a stab of panic.

Dean’s hands left him to knot the belt tightly around his knees and Sam almost toppled over. Dean righted him, gripped him tightly all over again, and then the cock was back — pushing in between his thighs in a silky-hot glide.

“You know they call this hotdogging?” Dean said, the words punctuated with gasps. “I’ve never really seen the point of it, despite the fun name. But oh fuck, Sam, _fuck_. Knowing it’s you? Feels amazing.”

“It really doesn’t,” Sam replied, feeling a little dazed. Dean was using him to get off and he felt sick with it, like when he was stiff with dried blood from a hunt, all wrong and warped and needing to shower.

Blood, though, that was something. Something he could try…

He screwed up his face in concentration. It wouldn’t have to be much, he just needed that tendril of power, just a smidge, just a spark. He reached for it, grunting lowly with the effort. He hadn’t drunk demon blood in weeks, not since Dean was around all the time. He felt a headache grow behind his eyes, and sniffed to keep the warm trickle of blood he felt beginning inside his nose from creeping out.

He just needed enough power to force Dean backwards, or maybe to undo the belt buckle, or perhaps to throw open Baby’s doors and jolt Dean out of his reverie.

It was so difficult to concentrate with the heavy weight of his brother bearing down on him, with the way an unwelcome cock twitched and thrust between his bound up legs, with his ass bared to the world and throbbing in time with his heartbeat. But he tried, god how he tried.

“Hey, Sam, what’s going on. Hey-”

Dean wrenched his head back by the hair, and his scalp burst with pinpricks of stinging pain. With one hand free from Dean’s grip he wiped quickly at his face.

“Nothin’, let go.”

“Are you trying to do your freaky mind control thing?”

“I’m trying to get you to stop!”

“Dammit can’t you just make this easy?” Dean tightened the grip on his hair and he had half a second to worry before he was slammed face down onto the car hood with dizzying force.

Once, twice, and he felt something crack and hot wetness flood from his nose. Dazed with pain, the world spun, and his head pounded; he went limp and floppy against the car as stars popped out behind his eyes and overhead in the night sky.

* * *

Sam collapsed beneath him with a guttural cry and turned his face to gasp for air. Dean watched fascinated as the dark red blood spread down Sam’s chin, ran inside Sam’s panting mouth and smeared across his Baby like paint.

“Shouldn’t have pushed me Sammy, hurting you was never part of the plan.”

“‘uck you,” Sam said, with a nasal groan to his voice.

“Maybe later.” He resumed thrusting, caught up in the brilliant sight of Sam’s bloody face. It made him harder, somehow, that Sam was bleeding for him. Because of him. From him.

“You look like shit, but I’m into it,” he chuckled.

“Hurts.”

“I bet it does.” He brushed Sam’s hair out of his face, all the better to see that chiselled jaw and gushing red flow of life that seeped out sluggishly and turned Sam into something macabre. Something, he thought with a jolt, that was worthy of his own fucked up desires; something that matched the dark, ruined recesses of his own soul.

It would be much too hard for Sam to focus to summon whatever awful power he had at his disposal through the pain of what was probably a broken nose and a harsh blow to the head. Sam shifted, bringing a hand up to swipe at his face, but he didn’t seem to have the coordination to follow through. Everything in Sam tensed up, clenched hard and stiffened below him.

Couldn’t have that. Couldn’t make Sam uncomfortable; not any more than was necessary to take what he needed.

“Hold up, you’re gonna hurt yourself, you need to relax.”

Sam grunted and tried to twist his arm out of Dean’s grasp.

“Ah, ah.” Dean changed his hold, gripped both of Sam’s wrists up behind his neck so he had to bend his arms at the elbow like he was surrendering and offering himself up to whoever was in charge. Another image Dean liked very much, but Sam was still stiff as a board and cringing beneath him and it ruined the whole effect.

Holding Sam with one hand and the hard press of his hips he fumbled for the flask he kept in his jacket with several fifths of whisky in it. It was easy to unscrew the cap with his teeth and the amber liquid dribbled out slowly over his index finger when he tipped it. He grinned in satisfaction, resisting the urge to take a taste.

“This’ll help you out, hang on.”

He slipped his finger between the crack of Sam’s ass and pushed forward until he felt what he was looking for. Sam tensed further with a delightful shudder that ran down his back and legs. It didn’t make Dean stop, one little finger wouldn’t harm. He urged his whisky coated finger inside Sam’s hole, and rubbed it off onto Sam’s inner walls. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Sam gasped.

“Only the best for you little brother.” He made a second and then a third pass with the whisky, fingering it inside Sam like it was lube; massaged it two knuckles deep inside that sweet little hole.

“Stop, stop, Dean stop. It’ll be too much!”

“I can call Cas if you end up with alcohol poisoning, don’t worry,” he clucked, dismissing Sam’s concerns like they were nothing. He weighed the flask in his hand, and decided just to go for it. He slid Sam forward, jacked the flask between his ass and tipped it up inside his brother’s sweet flashing-pink hole.

Most of it dribbled out down Sam’s legs and coated Dean’s cock where it was pulled halfway free of Sam’s thighs. Not that it mattered, a little added slick there would be just fine.

* * *

Sam felt his breath catch as his insides soaked and burned, as his tongue tasted a tang on the air that wasn’t just the iron stink of his blood. The lower half of his face was sticky with dried blood and he licked his lips again, trying to clear them.

The neck of the flask pressed at his delicate skin and the gushing, bubbling sensation as the whisky entered him left a groan stuck in his throat. Dean’s finger had been warm and soft at least, a strange wiggling intrusion but better than  _ this. _

He waited for the buzz to hit, for the alcohol to take effect, wondered if he’d feel the spike in his bloodstream before the drunken stupor hit. Dean wrenched his head back and emptied the rest of the flask into his mouth. He spluttered and swallowed to keep from choking. He couldn't taste it over the thick coating of blood on his tongue but it still seared his throat and flooded his stomach with unwanted heat.

It wouldn’t be long before he was overwhelmed by it. By pain and whiskey and Dean.

The sluggishness of too much alcohol washed over him slowly, and Dean resumed his thrusts while he drifted in a haze. A slow burn of humiliation seemed to emanate from between his thighs, from the place Dean used for his own pleasure, and it hummed brighter and grew in size and scope the further he drifted limp, floppy, and dizzy.

His eyes blurred and between slow breaths he wondered if it was a concussion or just the deep drunkenness that flowed through his veins.

Dean grunted obscenities and he couldn’t find words to rebuff them, to call them out. Baby was solid and absolute beneath his stomach and chest, pressed firm to his hips and knocked against his knees with the force of Dean’s weight. It was reassuring, this one steady thing; his vision filled with the black sheen of her paint as he rolled his head and put his forehead to the metal to cool it.

Dean held one of Sam’s hand behind his back and gripped his hip so hard with the other Sam could feel each finger point of pressure. He weakly clenched his ass, his legs, and his lower back rhythmically as Dean rocked.

How long could this go on for? How much more would Dean do; what more would he take? Sam had never had anything inside his ass before, he'd thought about trying it but it never seemed right. This didn’t seem right either, but he rolled the idea around inside his mind that it was  _ Dean  _ who’d taken that first from him and he didn’t hate it. He just wished… he wished it wouldn’t have felt like this, come after all of this. 

The evening had been so ordinary, so  _ nothing _ . How was this where they’d ended up? What had he done wrong? 

Tears formed, and fell, and pooled; they wet the blood on his face making it sticky and smudge again. He could barely focus, barely see, hardly think. He just felt, and it felt bad. And right. And terribly, awfully wrong.

Dean became erratic, loose and sloppy with his movements. 

“Yeah, Sam, Sam I’m gonna come. Fuck, the things you do, all for me. This, all for me,  _ fuck. _ ”

Warmth suffused his legs and Dean twitched obscenely between his thighs, squashed up to his balls and his cock. 

“Dean,” he slurred, groping and jerking, looking for something that would make him feel better.

“There now, that’s all. Shh. I got you.”

Dean’s heat left him briefly, and Sam cried out. He was so cold without Dean sheltering him. 

* * *

Dean swelled with pride at how well Sam had taken all of this, of how completely he’d relaxed once Dean gave him the means. The little broken, keening noise that left Sam as he pulled away to tuck himself in was heart warming. Maybe Sam wanted him after all.

Not that it mattered, Dean had marked Sam up as his own and nothing could undo that. He spread Sam’s cheeks and whistled at the sight of come-splattered legs, some dripping off the end of Sam’s cock and coating the underside of Sam’s balls. Like icing on a cake.

He stuck his hand between Sam’s legs and smeared it into the skin while Sam squirmed and twisted. He barely needed to hold Sam down now he was so beautifully fucked out and gone. He played with his own come until it cooled in the chill evening air, which didn’t take long.

He scooped up the cooling fluid, a glob on the end of his hand that he leaned over and wiped off inside Sam’s slack mouth. Sam blanched, rocked against the car and as Dean let go he slid down to the ground.

“Fuccck,” Sam said, his bare ass on the dirty ground and knees still bound together.

“Lookin’ like a million bucks there Sam.” He said it with a teasing note but he meant it sincerely. Sam looked entirely and blissfully  _ his _ . Taken apart by his hands, looking up with big wide eyes and a glazed expression; coated in blood from nose to chest, with bruised limbs and a rumpled shirt.

“Piss’offff.” Sam turned and spat, and leaned heavily against the car grill.

“Gonna reject my gift, Sam?” he asked. He moved in, groped for Sam’s groin and got enough come on his fingers to shove them into Sam’s mouth. Sam gagged, and rasped a no around the fingers, but he didn’t try to bite down. Dean held him by the back of the head until he swallowed and his tongue brushed along Dean’s fingers.

“Lick ‘em clean, like a good boy.”

Sam cringed, and more colour drained from his face, but he closed his eyes and sucked.

“Good, so good for me. Knew you would be.” He kissed Sam on the forehead and it felt like home.

* * *

Sam didn’t know where Dean went, only that he disappeared from sight. He leaned on Baby and tried to stop the world from spinning; it didn’t help, everything continuing to roll and spin even with his eyes closed.

“Dean,” he whined. He tried to paw at his clothes and get them up over his ass but couldn’t coordinate, nothing worked.

“I’m here.”

“Done, stop?”

“Yeah, let’s get you sorted.”

He fell down onto his back and looked up at Dean and beyond to the starry sky. Why were they out here, still? Why wouldn’t Dean take him away, why wouldn’t he stop?

Why did he keep stopping? Sam wanted to be warm, and held, he wanted Dean to make it better. Hadn’t he done enough, hadn’t Dean expected enough already?

He shoes were yanked off his feet and his pants, boxers, and socks followed next. “No,” he whispered.

“I got you,” Dean said, sounding exasperated.

“Sorry, please, Dean, m’sorry. Can’t, anymore. Don’t want t’, don’t. Please.” He cursed his inability to even make small words sound coherent, let alone make his thoughts known.

The world turned upside down and sideways as he was hauled up, and deposited carefully inside their only home. Butt naked on the bench seat he flopped around trying to right himself. His knees were still cinched together and he frowned down at the belt keeping him immobile. Useless fingers clawed at it until the driver’s door opened and Dean’s scent washed over him and Dean’s heat pressed up close.

He tried to cringe away, but… but he couldn’t. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t, all he wanted was to be held until it was over — until the world righted itself again.

* * *

Sam dazed and drunk was a sight to see, like morning after sloppiness it was endearing and hot. Seeing his taller, younger brother completely worked over and lost, when usually he wouldn’t lose control at all was amazing. With his ass bared, legs curled up cramped and bound, he was safely where he should be.

Baby started up and purred like a dream, and the last of his angry jitters bled away. This was right, this was as it should be. Sam beside him on the bench seat, the open road free to ride before them.

He dragged Sam bodily sideways until he could cradle Sam’s head in his lap. Sam groaned, protesting weakly; his rocking movements almost like nuzzling on Dean’s groin. Little Dean was happy being surrounded by heat, and he held Sam face down so Sam’s hot panting breaths covered his cock with every laboured exhale.

“I got you, I got you,” he said low, almost unable to believe it himself. “We’re goin’. It's open road now, just you and me.”

He stroked gentle fingers through Sam’s hair, so beyond ecstatic to get to touch, to hold, to keep. The blood on Sam’s clothes and face started to smear of onto his own jeans, rust coloured smudges that he hoped would stain the fabric for a while; he’d put Sam through a lot and it seemed only right that there was some evidence of it, some reminder of how far they had come and still had to go.

He thought of the little waitress, wondered if she were waiting sadly for Sam to reappear. Jealousy flared again and he growled, moving to grip the wheel with both hands so he wouldn’t drive them right off the road. Sam turned his head, sighed, and finally went completely still — probably lulled to sleep by the vibrations of the car after his ordeal.

Dean smiled. Sam really had done so well, suffered so willingly, never fought back enough to hurt Dean; or else so caught off guard he couldn’t find room to win. Either option was good with him.

He reached over and slapped Sam’s ass a couple of times, revelling once again in the sound of flesh on flesh. He laughed as Sam pitched forward, teetering on the edge of the seat, eyes suddenly wide open but darting around and shuddering.

“Just rest Sam, it’s all good.”

Sam settled at the sound of his voice and it spread contentment through Dean like a balm. They’d be okay, they’d be fine. He’d showed Sam what he wanted, and Sam was still here, still close — and still soothed by that closeness.

Yeah, they’d do just great.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this terrible, no good, awful filth ;) comments and kudos always appreciated!
> 
> I have ideas about where they would go from here, but I couldn't write it into this fic in a way that worked. Suffice to say it would be angtsy and angry and they'd stick together with just an incredibly fucked up dynamic going on.
> 
> I also sort of had a part two in mind, where soulless!Sam gets his own back on Dean by loaning him out to dive bar of dudes for the night. And riiiiight about the time I conceived that idea OmgBubblesOmg and metarachel posted almost exactly the kind of thing I was thinking of. And it's perfect and awfully wonderful and [you can read it here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19775026) and now i don't have to write it muahaha.
> 
> [Dodged a Bullet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408678) by Interstitial is also worth a read if you want another fic like this one, amazingly written and intense.


End file.
